Conspiracy

Language and
Logic

Are

Outside of
Me

Existing in
Their

Own sense
Of self

Poetry

A Light
Whose hand

Art
Is crafted

Everywhere
Forever

Dreams of
Being

You

Within
Me

no poetry tonight

no poetry

tonight

i cannot write

language

and logic

not with me

the color of

a tree

will be 

argued

an entire 

night

everything

meaning 

anything

blinded 

in a 

light 

winged 

holy 

thing

bleed and then turn left

Words surrounded
Our encampment
Time beginning
Sex
Poetry, lies

and

fire
Lit throughout the
Night

What happened?

And to that young man

Fate had flung together

No words matched

Gathered
In afterbirth

Of cities

And streets
A mid-wife

Witness to

A beginning

Of

Dangerous
Prose

You Born

Among
The copulating serpents

I

Inconsistent

Naked and ignorant

In turmoil

In shit

In chaos

Together

Our
Lust created

Alchemy

Our death
A breath
Of lies

Your savior of

choice

Designing cars

Isotopes

Heroin

Turn right go
here
A few miles

Further

You will

come To A Foreverness

In a basement

In Seattle

We are

Already dead 

nothing last for nothing or no time forever or ever

empty house sits

cold in 

winter

empty old house

sits cold

naked alone

cold

old winter

sitting empty

naked

and alone

crystaline-rush

from my latter... a double exposure. 

No time to waste

Nothing goes unnoticed
Yesterday
Wrapped in secrets of tomorrow

A precession of voices
Refused to reveal its
Mystery

Moments lingering on a
Melody
Familiar yet forgotten

Light kept locked the keys
Of a future

Even here

influence noted

a random whim: constant and variables of a personal landscape

 

1988

1998

2008

4 x 6

house of mem

working late past midnight tightening the seal for winter weather is nearer everyday. not fully recovered from the summer of financial ruin (treading water just staying above the red), yet many fine things already are born from its dust... looking into the unknown always demands leaving some form of security behind... yesterday uncovered the above coat of arms depicting heracles with the hydra..

5 X 7

while in transition without space for larger canvases, looking to old masters for inspiration.
cezanne's "fruit bowl glass and apples" is the subject of a quick and overly satisfying challenge... and perhaps the beginning of a series of smaller interpretations... "thoughts of subversive in further classical training"

corrected quote to read "We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely." Oscar Wilde

outside in

small gains in
a world with
more chaos to give

Persistence of Memory

Washed up on shores
Of time
You and I
Unknown Holy creatures

Before this

Recluse genius
Hostage to a truth
Of noble mind

You and I
Forever knowing and
Not knowing perfected meaning

Seen and unseeing forces
Of goodwill and evil
Twins born of ancient ancestral
Stars

Before this

Soft hands separate
A swelling membrane
This between
You and I

one for the time being...

In truth I am a liar

I believe what I am are the things I will become

I have no economy

I am a mutable fixed stranger

Inwardly I cry outside I am a shell

I’m hung up on words

Exhausted in meanings

I can’t stop speaking or thinking

I maintain my weakness

I maintain my inspiration with grass

I believe what I think I am I will become

Memory is meaningless and all persuasive

I watch a half-naked moon

Waxing in black air

Nietzsche claimed God is dead

I claim I do not care

But this I can not go on speaking

Without risk of an

Honest portrait of self